couldn't bring the columns down (couldn't destroy a single one)
by bethejerktomybitch
Summary: And so here he is, now, after the ice, with the same violent need burning inside of him – stronger even, because where once Peggy's name marked him as hers, there is now a new name etched into his skin. Darcy, his wrist says, and he hates her, hates that faceless woman almost more than he hates fate.


In the world before, when Steve was just a little boy and hadn't seen all the horrors of the world yet, he imagined fate as an old woman, etching names into newborn skin and connecting hearts by thin silver threads. Now, though, he sees fate for what it really is – a cruel, capricious god, entangling people in messes they can never hope to find their way out of and breaking hearts for the sheer fun of it.

"Do you believe in it? Fate, I mean?" Natasha asks him, once, over a glass of Scotch, and he nods, takes a deep sip that won't do any good. "Yes." he says, and he doesn't look at her while he speaks, because he knows she won't understand him, will never be able to understand, because she still has Clint by her side, doesn't she, she hasn't been screwed over by fate as horribly as he has.

"Yes, I do." he repeats, and the next words taste bitter on his tongue. "I just hate it so much I wish I didn't."

* * *

It wasn't always like this, though. There was a time when Steve would lie awake at night and stare at the black letters on the pale skin of his wrist, stare at it until the name burned itself into the inside of his eyelids. _Margaret,_ his wrist said, and he loved her then, loved that faceless woman so fiercely he thought his chest would burst.

He met her, too, got lucky enough to meet her in a war-torn world where hundreds of men died overseas and left the names on girls' wrists back home scarred and faded, and she was more than he could have ever dreamt, and he loved her and she loved him and that was enough.

On the nights when he was away on missions with the Howling Commandos, he would look up at the starry sky and thank fate with all he had, thank the invisible power that had tied his and Peggy's hearts together, because to him, it was nothing short of perfect.

Maybe, he thinks now, maybe fate was letting him be happy for a while on purpose, to lull him into a false sense of security. Because, of course, the happiness didn't last. It all came crashing down, quite literally, and Steve still remembers that feeling, that feeling when the plane went down into the ice and he thought of the scarred wrist and the hole in her heart he would leave Peggy with.

He saw fate then, in that moment, saw its face in front of him, laughing at his pain. That was when he felt his chest light up with hate, and he wonders now, sometimes, if that burning hate was what kept him alive in the ice – the desperate, angry need to change his fate.

* * *

And so here he is, now, after the ice, with the same violent need burning inside of him – stronger even, because where once Peggy's name marked him as hers, there is now a new name etched into his skin. _Darcy,_ his wrist says, and he hates her, hates that faceless woman almost more than he hates fate.

He prays to every god he knows, to whatever deity might be out there besides the cruel tyrant that is fate, prays that he will never meet this Darcy, because his heart is irrevocably Peggy's and nothing fate can throw at him will ever be able to change that. He resents the idea of even trying, trying to love another woman when his chest still burns with love for Peggy.

So, when Tony announces that Thor's soulmate, Jane Foster – as always, Steve's heart aches at the mention of soulmates – will be moving into the tower along with her assistant Darcy Lewis, Steve doesn't need to consider. He locks himself inside his room and closes his eyes and thinks _not this time, I'm not going be your puppet this time._

* * *

Steve is a believer.

It's what Erskine saw in him, it's what makes him a good leader and also a good soldier. He believes in people, in principles, in morals, and above all, he believes in the individual's power to change things. Or he used to, anyway. Now, he isn't so sure anymore. Because no matter how hard he tries, no matter how hard he tries to bring the whole damn system that thought it would be a good idea to give him another soulmate after Peggy down, in the end things are what they are and there is just no way for a single person to go up against the universe and win.

And so this is what happens: fate, as the cruel puppeteer that it is, pulls all their strings, moves them around like pieces on game board, until there they are, Steve and Darcy, facing each other in a dark hallway at midnight.

He can feel her eyes on his wrist and he can see his name on hers too, even through the darkness, and his last hope, the hope that his bond to Darcy would be a one-sided one – another cruel game that fate sometimes plays with people – goes up in flames.

Darcy, though, smiles – because she doesn't know, how could she, doesn't know that her soulmate, the person she has probably waited all her life for, doesn't want her, doesn't want any of this. "Hi." she says, and Steve's throat feels too dry, he can't bring himself to smile, can't bring himself to say anything.

Her smile slowly falls and gives way to uncertainty. "You're… it, right?" she asks. "My soulmate?"

Steve doesn't know what to feel. He thought he could hate her, could blame her for this mess that fate got them in, but he can't, he just can't, not when she's looking at him with her eyes full of hope, and so all he does is whisper "I'm sorry" and leave.

* * *

Another memory, from the world before. Bucky's wrist carried a name too, which, back in the 30's and 40's, was a bit rarer than it is now. But even back then, a name didn't guarantee you a happily ever after, didn't even guarantee you would meet your soulmate.

And still they believed, believed with all they had, put their heart in fate's hands and trusted it to find it a safe destination – until the day the name of Bucky's wrist faded. They never learned what had happened to his soulmate, whether she had died a natural death or whether something terrible had happened, but this was the moment Steve first started doubting.

Of course, not long after he met Peggy, but now, now that everything is a mess again, he remembers how horrible it was to see his best friend lose all hope and hates fate even more. He wonders if, had Bucky survived the war, he would have gotten a new name too. And he wonders too, briefly, if Bucky would've liked the idea of a new soulmate.

* * *

Steve is a believer. He wishes he wasn't.

Maybe then, if he didn't still believe in fate against all reason, he would be able to evade the path it has mapped out for him. Maybe then, if he didn't believe in it, he could tear it down. But he does, and so he can't.

Things are what they are, and what they are is this: Darcy, who believes in fate too but in another, an easier way, won't let her soulmate go without an explanation. Steve, who believes in something he hates with all his being, can't bring himself to break an innocent girl's heart. And so they stand in the hallway again, facing each other, the air still heavy with the story Steve just told her.

"I don't understand." Darcy says, finally. "It's fate. Who are we to try and change it?"

Steve gives a hollow, empty laugh. "So this is it?" he asks, though of course she won't have an answer. "We just accept fate has thrown us together, even though maybe we won't be happy?"

Darcy shrugs. "Maybe we won't." she agrees. "But is there really anything else we can do besides accepting it?"

 _We could refuse,_ Steve thinks. _We could tear it all to the ground, could stop letting fate dictate how we live our lives._ But he is tired of trying, he is tired of hating, and so what he says instead is this:

"Okay."


End file.
